A Kind Of Silence
by rockpaperscissor
Summary: Codas to 6.05 and 6.06. Dean's mouth works silently for a moment, as if he's trying words out before he can sound them. Sam watches sympathetically. He knows what that's like.
1. Chapter 1

_(long as I'm here, Dean grins, nothing bad is gonna happen to you)_

* * *

Something's wrong with Dean.

Sam glances at the man sitting beside him, arms tense at the wheel and back straight like a drill sergeant's breathing in his ear. Dean's eyes gaze out the windshield, maybe at the trees, maybe at the road, maybe at the blurry line blinking in the middle of it like an epileptic nightmare - Sam can't be sure. But for a strange, _different _kind of moment, Sam's almost curious, almost wants to know.

Just as quickly, though, the whim fades.

After all, it isn't important.

Dean seems to feel his gaze because he shifts, eyes almost flickering in Sam's direction, before he again returns to the same position, as if there is no point in a stronger response, no point in looking at Sam, which feels - maybe feels - a little wrong _(possibly a lot wrong, he can't quite tell)_. Because Dean, Dean is all about response, all about _reaction_, and even though Sam doesn't really care to trust... anything, anymore, he's always relied on that one truth to frame his behavior, frame his world. Even now.

_Especially_ now, when he has trouble enough trying to remember his _own _reactions, what he's supposed to be like when he isn't holding a gun or interviewing a witness or laying down a line of salt.

The little things, the things in between. That's what Sam has Dean for. Dean makes everything better, easier - he's dependable, predictable, and makes it _so _much easier to play the game.

Rules make everything easier.

The basic ones -

_If I call for Dean, Dean will come. If I tell Dean to stay, Dean will stay. If I tell Dean to leave, Dean won't move.  
_

The mundane ones -

_If I order a salad, Dean will order extra fries. __If I'm asleep, Dean won't wake me up. __ If I forget to change the oil, Dean will yell at me.__ If I make fun of Dean, Dean will glare, but be secretly delighted._

The practical ones -

_If I don't duck, Dean will jump in. If I'm in danger, Dean will save me. If I get hurt, Dean will be angry, and help me out anyway.  
_

And -_  
_

**_If I follow the rules, Dean will call me Sammy._**

0000

But Dean isn't calling him Sammy now, isn't calling him anything now. Isn't even talking. The tape player is silent, mute, the Impala making only distant noise as it travels over smooth stretches of empty road, and even though Sam has had a lot of practice at this kind of silence, this_ Dean-isn't-here-I-am-alone _kind of silence, there's something about _this_ silence, this _particular _silence, this _Dean-is-here-but-I-am-still-alone-why-is-that_ silence, that... _nags _at him.

Which is only reasonable, of course - Dean's behavior doesn't make sense, and Sam's all about logic. So he ponders it, tries to deconstruct the silence into its variable components, thinking maybe if he makes it small and simple enough to understand it will be small and simple enough to fix. He's not sure why he would, exactly, why this of all things bothers him when other things don't come close, but he has a vague notion that he _should _be bothered and for now, for now that is enough.

0000

_What he remembers:_

Never really getting away from Dean, even back when he wanted to, because either Dean came back or Sam came back or both of them came back to each other, not that it really mattered because it all came down to the same thing in the end. Dean taking care of him, looking out for him, annoying the _crap _out of him, sitting next to Sam just the way he's supposed to, the way he always did.

(_it didn't_,_ Dean had said tightly, gripping his cell phone with whitened knuckles, and Sam said sorry but he wasn't, he isn't, this is how it's meant to turn out after all_)

Never being alone when he wanted to be alone, because Dean hated leaving Sam even more than he hated Sam leaving him, even if Sam was fine and actually okay with it, could actually use the space. And never being alone when he didn't want to be alone, either, though that usually meant being treated to Dean's _just so you know, dude, this hugging thing expires the second you turn 12/16/18/23_ _- this does not get mentioned, are we clear_ -

_(what did you see in the nest, he'd asked, and Dean's face had shut off in anger or fury or disgust, just back off_, _and something stirred inside Sam at that, because Dean never sent Sam away when everything was fine - and everything _was_ fine now, wasn't it, they had the cure)_

Being read to when he was sick, little fingers - yet so big in his eyes, back then - clumsily swiping sweaty bangs off his sweaty forehead, answering his feverish calls for Dad with _he'll be back soon, Sammy, he will I swear_, and _I'm here, I'm here I am not going anywhere_. Being called Sammy in a million different voices, a million different ways, irritated growls and gleeful snickers and deep-throated shouts and sleep-deprived groans and every so often without even an excuse, for no reason at all except to let Sam know that Dean's still there.

_(his brother's eyes darting around, is this heaven? he'd asked, and Sam had frowned, wondering what Dean was talking about, how he could be so wrong)_

Dean being there. That, he remembers.

0000

_What he knows:_

When he's with Dean, Sam's not alone. Yeah, he has to concern himself more with expressions and words and matching one to the other, but he doesn't, he doesn't have to _worry _about that, about misstepping, because Dean doesn't mind, doesn't care at all about picking up where Sam leaves off. There's a safety net - if Sam doesn't say something, Dean will, and if he doesn't drive, Dean does, and if he doesn't order the room, Dean might bitch at him but he'll still do it instead. If Sam feels different, stranger, if he _forgets_, then Dean -

...Well. Dean tries, anyway.

Dean always tries.

0000

_Conclusion:_

If Sam feels alone, and Dean isn't trying, then.

Then.

0000

He stares again at Dean, watches the afternoon sun frame the familiar face in a rainbow of gold. Considers saying something, but there aren't any rules for this that he can recall.

Except -

"Dean," he says.

His brother doesn't even pretend to look at him this time. Sam wonders whether he's being ignored, or if Dean just really is that focused on... whatever.

Or maybe, instead of Dean, it's Sam who isn't really here.

It's possible.

"Dean," he repeats, a little louder. Perhaps this isn't so much a rule as much as an experiment, and experiments are no good without repeated trials.

_Hypothesis: i__f I call for you, then -_

"Dean."

Dean doesn't sigh, just tenses and relaxes in the way that lets Sam know he's listening. So some things haven't changed, then.

_Good_, he thinks, but when Dean's expression stays the same he thinks he might be mistaken, after all.

It's up to him to lead, clearly. Sam swallows - natural reaction to fluid buildup in his mouth - and hesitates, not having expounded on his plan farther than this. Uncertainty - there's been so much of it since Dean returned.

"I," he starts, but that feels wrong too, selfish somehow. "We can listen to something," he says finally, awkwardly. Never was much of a dancer, he thinks, and the thought amuses him. "If you want. Metallica, Led Zeppelin, whatever. I'll get the tape for you."

Shrug, simple shake of the head. _No_, Dean means to say_._

His lips twist quizzically.

Odd. He thinks he remembers them listening to music, before. Fighting over it even, _does this song even have a melody, Dean?_ and _give me back my fucking tape, your music sounds like ass_ kinds of fights, duplicating and permuting across the years like infinite spiderwebs of conversation.

Didn't they? Is he wrong?

Sam jiggles his knee for a second before he catches himself. So many aberrations, now that Dean is back. "Radio?" he tries, and the word echoes in his head, the wrongness in his voice multiplying as it grows and reverberates back and forth within his skull.

Nothing. That must also mean no.

He rifles through the rules in his head, and when that doesn't help, he takes a look at the memories. Ah, there, that might work.

"Everything okay?" he says, remembering to widen his eyes just a little, lean a tiny bit toward the person he's talking to.

This time Dean does turn, gives him a _look_. Sam thinks he vaguely remembers getting that _look _before, at some point , though the meaning frustratingly escapes him.

He pauses, thinks. "Is this about you needing space?" he inquires. "I can shut up."

Dean's mouth works silently for a moment, as if he's trying words out before he can sound them.

Sam watches sympathetically. He knows what that's like.

"You got - " Dean's voice catches _(should have waited longer, Sam thinks)_ "you got a - a manual in there? Huh? How to talk Dean down? How to sound like, like you're still - you?"

He wrinkles his forehead. "What are you talking about?" he says in puzzlement, before he _remembers _and hastily adds, "What's wrong? Are you hurt somewhere...?"

Dean looks straight ahead as a laugh tumbles from his mouth. Something's odd about his eyes though, like maybe he needs to practice matching words to expressions like Sam does.

Sam doesn't understand why Dean is laughing _(maybe the cure had psychological side effects, he ponders, should look into that)_. He waits for Dean to finish, before he says, "Dean?"

"Two days ago, I had a family," Dean says abruptly, and it's like he never laughed at all. "I had a - a girl. A kid. Because of you." His breath is part tremble, part shudder. "Because I promised you."

Sam frowns.

Dean glances at him then, and his smile is bitter, bitter. "Well. What the Lord giveth, right?"

He stares in confusion for a long moment, watching his brother's eyes for a clue, a sign, something for him to follow.

And then suddenly, he thinks he gets it.

He holds back an eyeroll. So emotional, his brother.

"I didn't take them away from you, Dean."

"Didn't you?"

The question stings as if from a distance - Sam shakes his head, and there's again that nagging feeling that this, this is _important._ "No, I - "

His brother's voice is almost light, uncaring - but Sam remembers it's not, _knows _it's not. "Because it kinda feels like you did."

"I didn't tell you to go visit Lisa, did I?" he protests, even as something in his head screams _no stop what are you saying?_ "That was all you, Dean. You're the one who should have known better, they could have gotten hurt."

And just like that, something comes over Dean's face, something tense and sharp and completely empty. "Yeah." The same odd faceless laugh. "You're right. Should have known better."

He searches for the Sam thing to say. Ah. "I'm - I'm sorry, Dean," he says, remembers to bite his lip this time _(he keeps forgetting)_. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Of course you didn't," Dean says.

Sam relaxes. "It's not your fault, you know that, don't you?" he says, words flowing out easier and easier. "I mean, you can't really be blamed - there was a lot going on, you had a lot on your mind..."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Turning into a monster, knowing I had to die before I killed someone - yeah, you might say that."

That annoys him. "I told you, you weren't going to die," he snaps irritatedly.

"You did," Dean agrees. "Funny, that. Almost like you knew something I didn't."

His eyes narrow. "Are you... trying to imply something?"

Dean grins - just the way he always has, except now it's... different, somehow, although it's hard to tell. "'Course not, man. I'm just glad you decided to wait for Samuel. Gramps always has an answer, ain't that the truth."

As Sam stares at him, he has the strangest feeling... like they're having two conversations at once, and he only knows of one and can't be sure how his words translate from one to the other.

It feels familiar somehow. _(I can hear your heart beating and it's pretty damn steady)_

"I didn't know he had a cure, Dean -"

"And wow," he's interrupted, "look what we got, more info about the alphas exactly from the place I needed to go. Now that, that's really handy. Almost... providence, wouldn't you say?"

Sam has no idea what he's expected to say. "I- I guess?"

Unreadable look. "You would."

They drive. A couple minutes pass.

"You know what else is funny, Sam."

He glances over. "Hm?"

"Even after everything, you _still_ think I'm dumber than a doornail."

He actually _jerks_, and this time his eyes widen on their own. "W-what, no I don't - Dean, don't be _ridiculous _-"

Misstep.

The grin vanishes. Dean turns, pins Sam down with a fathomless stare. "Hey, Sam?" he says, light but not light, "Remember that offer to shut up?"

"I-"

"So yeah. _Shut up_."

"Dean please, listen to me, come on -"

But Dean turns back to the road, doesn't answer, just gazes out the windshield, as if seeking out all the places where Sam isn't, all the places Sam's never been.

It chills him like nothing has in a long time - the sensation is strange, unpleasant, unfamiliar, more emotion than he's felt since... since before.

Which - scares him, confuses him, because he's not supposed to, to feel, something's different now, something's wrong now, there's something's _wrong with him -_

"_Dean,_" he tries, one last trial. _I'm calling you - stay, just stay -  
_

No response. Nothing.

He wants to try again, narrow down the margin of error _(maybe if he tries hard enough things will change)_, but something stops him, shakes its head _(too late, it says, too late too late) _and he falters. And the tape deck's quiet, the Impala's quiet, the entire world is quiet, shrunken into a little Impala-shaped bubble of silence. A _Dean-is-here-but-I'm-alone _kind of silence.

A... a very lonely kind of silence.

And this time, Sam knows exactly what that means.

_The one who isn't here is me._

0000

_(at least you got my back. No matter what happens, I can count on you. Right, Sammy?)_

_

* * *

_

A/N: I know there were a whole lot of haters for this episode, and I get it, I do. But I was always more of a let's see what happens kind of viewer, and somehow this episode just blew me away. I mean, BAMF vampire Dean completely caught me off-guard (I am SO freaking glad I was unspoiled for this episode, the premise would probably have turned me off otherwise), and the strange vision with the girls was so weird and intriguing and awesomely cut, and then Grandpa Campbell made me actually care for him a little - Which I thought would never happen, honestly, he's got a bit of a creepy face.

And THEN we have the thing with Sam. Strangely enough, this episode made me NOT hate Sam. I know, how weird is that? But the thing is, think about Sam from before this season. Even at the height of Rubymania, he clearly cared about Dean. Part of the Ruby thing was, yes, a lust for power and control - but it wouldn't have happened without Sam's moral drive. And as we just found out this episode - something happened to it. Like, it's freaking GONE. A crucial part of what made Sam Sammy - oh Sammy, how I fondly remember the days you were you - is missing. Now Sam, I can really dislike sometimes. But this guy? I can't even hate this guy - he's not Sam. Something's way off, like _way_ off, and I don't know how it happened but I'm actually excited to find out the why of it.

Especially since until we get an answer, it's going to be very difficult to write Sam's pov. Oy... this was not easy.

Please tell me what you think!_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_(I just know we're all we've got... more than that, we keep each other human)_

* * *

When Dean says _you go _, Sam pauses, blinks. When Dean says he has to do research, _gotta know what we're up against_, Sam pauses, and is... confused.

It's not that splitting up doesn't make tactical sense - after all, Sam's not expecting any real danger _(he could handle anything that comes at him anyway)_, and research is important, _crucial_, really, in any hunt or case a hunter might find. The premise is sound but something about the equation doesn't fit; Dean plus research plus staying put equals... _oddity_.

He stares at Dean, searches for a sign, but even though Dean's staring right back at him over the rim of his glass, Dean's eyes are so flat, so blocked off that even Sam can't read him. And Sam knows how to read Dean.

It's _easy._

While he ponders he continues to stand there, not in a hurry while this intrigues him - while Dean intrigues him, which is a rare enough occurrence.

He gets nowhere, Dean's face not yielding a hint or a clue, and so out of habit Sam sighs a little, takes a breath, which causes him to actively notice the sharp and acrid smell wrapped around Dean like a particularly repulsive snake. Sam wrinkles his nose, glances at the half-full glass in his brother's hand, and on second thought, he thinks, maybe Dean staying in is for the best - his brother probably won't take well to the suggestion of a second shower, and witnesses tend to not trust interrogators that have alcohol oozing out of their pores.

Simple logic. Decision made.

For no reason he can fathom, however, Sam remains motionless, his feet rebelling against going. Fighting them would only be tedious, and so he uses the time to think a little more, try to decipher how this silence makes him feel even farther away from Dean than before, when it's not like Dean isn't here, when it's not like he's being ignored, when it's actually just about the opposite - Dean is watching him almost too intently, to be honest, as if he trying to predict Sam's next move even though there's really nothing to predict, nothing for Sam to protest, Dean's suggestion was actually surprisingly reasonable and of course Sam will go and leave Dean behind, it makes perfect sense_ (but since Dean hates leaving Sam even more than Sam leaving him_,_ maybe it doesn't, and Sam has to wonder what this means, who is the one actually doing the leaving)_.

Still, it isn't until he has a sudden vision of Dean _(laptop on his lap, diary beside him, maps strewn all over the bed) _researching, when he recalls that Dean is actually capable, that Sam's feet release him, that Sam tells Dean okay.

...Not that he would fight or argue if it wasn't.

There wouldn't be any point in that.

0000

The first punch takes Sam by surprise.

Sam and Dean have a history of lying, and Sam remembers it well - remembers being told there were no monsters when in fact there were, being told that everything was fine when in fact Dad had broken his collarbone and was in the ER. Remembers Dean saying he'll never tell about hell and then telling, remembers Dean saying _of course not _and then attempting to say yes to Michael, saying he'd moved on from Dad's death when Sam of course knew he hadn't. So he'd bugged Dean about hell, got Castiel to find him when he ran away, confronted Dean about their father.

And that's the difference, really. Sam always knows to see through the lies.

Dean, on the other hand, never does.

So when Dean points a knife at him, Sam tells him the truth, but not only that - he makes sure, just like when he lied all those times before _(I froze, Sam had said, which was a ridiculous lie really because he's a real hunter now and real hunters don't freeze), _to pull and twist at his face to make the appropriate facial expressions, _I don't feel_, _I'm not _scared _anymore_, to make it properly sincere and desperate, and when his brother finally puts down the weapon he smiles a little inside, because he's been getting better at this and there, now there was a performance.

Even if it _was _actually the truth for once - it still was necessary to act like himself, or rather act like how he used to be, if only so Dean would have more incentive to believe. Truth is truth, yes, but Dean can't be trusted to know that. Dean believes what he sees, so Sam lets him see it, lets him see what he wants.

Which is, of course, _Sammy_.

It's a tried-and-tested fact. Dean always believes Sammy. He simply doesn't know any better.

The first punch takes Sam by surprise. And for the first time, Sam considers that maybe it isn't that Dean never knew any better, but that Dean just always wanted to believe him, so very badly.

0000

...By the time he's knocked unconscious, however, Sam's not surprised at all.

0000_  
_

He expects to wake up - even now, he knows that Dean would never kill him, that _big brother _would never hurt him in a permanent manner. He expects to wake up on a cold floor, next to decomposing corpses on examining tables, with his face a bloated mess and maybe a few welts on his arm where a cat saw it fit to use it as a scratching post.

He does not expect to wake up in a bed. But that is what he does.

A strong copper taste swirls in his mouth as he swallows. His cheeks sting wetly, the considerable pain not constant but coming in waves, washing back and forth across his face. After a quick mental check, he determines that he isn't hurt anywhere else, and yet still his arms are heavy, his legs _(the rebels) _refusing to budge. Defeated, he remains where he is, keeps his eyes closed to gather more information concerning his surroundings.

_Possibilities:_ he's captured. Perfectly reasonable, considering his vast list of enemies and rather shorter list of allies. Could be a monster seeking revenge - or playtime, same thing - and could equally be a hunter wanting to interrogate him for whatever it is he might know. Or, it's possible he's on lockdown in the hospital, someone having discovered him and Veritas' body, not to mention the remains of those other unfortunate victims, put two and two together and now have him chained to a bed - most likely in a private suite - as the cops wait for him to wake up and explain himself.

All of which can be dealt with. Sam relaxes.

His ear detects activity on his left side, the slow shuffling of feet against the floor. A breath of a chuckle, or something close to it, the weight of someone's gaze. A liquid - poison? - drips unto the floor.

Then - _movement_ -

Sam's hand shoots up, catching the hand targeting his face at the wrist. But instead of a struggle, or whoever it is tearing away from his grasp, the hand just stays there, its pulse beating steadily against Sam's fingers, and again there's that same soft noise, which now Sam can recognize as a bitter, bitter shadow of a laugh.

"Knew you were faking it."

His hand lets go, as if by its own decision.

"...Dean?" he whispers. The word hurts, cheeks screaming from the pain of moving his face. He compartmentalizes it, focuses on the present. It doesn't make _sense._

A sigh is his only answer. Then suddenly - _wet_, on his face, on his bruises, and it's a glorious relief even as it snaps him from his haze, even as his injuries scream all the more.

He can't suppress a gasp, and the towel moves gently across his forehead, across his puffed up cheeks, below the bridge of his nose.

He struggles to focus. "What - what are you doing here?" he manages in between swipes at his mouth. Collecting data. Can't have theories without data.

"What does it look like?"

His face refuses to frown. This is completely beyond him. "I don't know, I can't see."

"Funny, smartass."

The water's freezing. Sam tries and fails to hold in a whimper.

Silence. More cold water.

"Why-"

"Shut up, Sam."

And Sam does.

0000

_What he knows:_

_..._

0000

They must be still in there, he reasons, in the huge house full of windows and tables and stairs, but when Sam manages to open his eyes - well, one eye, the other is swollen shut - he sees a familiarly yellowed ceiling, familiar in that it's just like the ceiling in every other motel room he'd ever been in.

Not like the ceiling a TV journalist or an ancient goddess would have in her modern, spotless mansion.

He rolls his eye to the side, trying to gather more details. Sees Dean sitting next to him instead.

Feels nothing.

"Where..." his mouth is dry, despite everything, "where are we?"

Tonelessly. "Motel. Illinois."

In a way it's easier, to be freed from the burden of having to contort his face into expressions, but the inability still frustrates him - he's used to it by now. He settles for a piercing one-eyed stare. "How?"

"Car." And it's almost like Dean, in sympathy with Sam's condition, had decided to also forgo any facial movement, because Sam looks and looks and searches and can't find a twitch.

_(so what if you are? what are you gonna do, take a leave of absence? ...You're gonna bury it, you're gonna forget about it, because that's how we keep going)_

"You dragged me... all the way there?" And there were stairs, Sam _remembers _those stairs. Dean's not that strong, is he? "By yourself?"

"No, the cats helped." Beat. "_Of course__ by myself, _you fucking _idiot_."

"But -"

Ignored. "Speaking of which, you could really stand to lose a few hundred pounds."

"But... why?" Sam insists, refuses to back down. The anomaly _grates_. "Why not leave me there? Cut your losses?"

Dean looks at him, raising an eyebrow in almost angry bemusement. "Is this an _I don't understand you humans_ kind of question, or is this just you being an asshole?"

This time he does succeed at a frown. The agony is excruciating, but it's worth it. "I just want to know."

"You always do, don't you," Dean mutters... only to freeze.

It's irritating, how Sam can't even manage a wrinkle.

"Dean?" he asks, trying to sound compassionate and caring and Sam.

Something he can't name slides over Dean's face. It looks painful.

"...Dean?"

Tightly - "I swear, Sam, the fucking _crap _I put up with from you -"

Silence.

Sam doesn't dwell on it. He wets his lips, wishes for water. "You punched me."

A sigh. "Yeah. Stay still, or I'll do it again." Pause. Dean gets up, walks out of Sam's field of vision. "Actually no, sit up," he says. "I got you a straw."

Sam nods, props himself up on his arms, maneuvers so he's leaning back against the wall. Dean comes to him, glass in hand, a pink straw inside it. Sam's arms feel heavy, so Dean gingerly holds up the glass for him, a terse look on his face.

The first thing Sam does is sniff at it, just to be sure, but it doesn't smell. Water, then.

He drinks. Peers at Dean. After a while, Dean pulls back, rests the glass on the table, turns away.

Sam searches for something to say _(c'mon Sam, do it for the free food, Dean had told him at sixteen - ask some random questions, nod and smile, heck just use those big puppy eyes). _"Uh, so ever hear from Lisa and -"

Dean's hand clenches. "_Don't_," he snaps, voice as dangerous as Sam's ever heard it.

Except Sam can't get scared anymore.

"Dean -"

Green eyes flash. "I said_ don't_!" he shouts harshly, jumping out of his chair. "Don't you even _say _their names!"

He tries to frown again - the last one slipped. "Did you talk to her, then? Did she... say something... to upset you...?"

Dean laughs then, incredulously. "You just don't get it, do you? _She's _fine, you fucking bastard. It's _you_. I don't want to hear _their _names, coming out of _your _mouth!"

Sam stares at him.

Dean stalks to the door, opens it, then whirls around, one hand still on the doorknob. "I don't want to hear you - _you_, talking like you - like you care. _I_ might be stupid enough to put up with all - _with all this_, but Lisa and Ben...you don't touch _them_, you hear me? They - they don't deserve to be used, like, like..." he falters, looks away. "They don't deserve it," he repeats.

_(You chose a demon over your own brother, Dean had said brokenly, the 'how could you' left unspoken)_

"I hear you," Sam says quietly. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Suddenly, Dean grins, teeth bared at Sam, eyes dark. After all that's been said, the effect is jarring.

"No, you're not," he says, and steps away into the sunshine.

0000

Past experience tells him that just as Dean always takes him back, no matter what he's done, Dean also always returns.

But even still, Dean is unstable, unpredictable. There's nothing to say that he won't just leave Sam there, that he hadn't patched Sam up out of guilt, only to leave once Sam woke up. And while twenty-plus years do vouch for a lot, Sam also remembers these past couple of years, the times Dean had acted like a shell of a person, like less of himself, when he'd had enough of the world and hunting and ghosts and Sam, most of all Sam. Remembers the times Dean called him a monster, or punched him, or just left for the night so he wouldn't have to look his own brother in the face.

No. There's nothing to say that Dean will come back.

...And yet. Sam doesn't move from the bed.

He'll wait.

0000

Footsteps. The door opens.

Dean comes in without looking at Sam, tosses his jacket on the bed, flops down, turns on the TV. Puts it on mute.

They both stare at it vacantly for a while - the details of whatever's going on glance by Sam, too unimportant to really register. It's not like Dean will think him human if he proves that he's able to follow the storyline. There is no test for what Sam isn't.

Or if there was - he's failed it already.

"I tried to hate you sometimes," Dean says suddenly.

He glances over. The movement's painful, but he ignores it.

"Before you died. Then after I died. Because you're right, there were... there were lots of times, where the smart thing would have been to - to let you go. Cut my losses. That's... that would have probably been the... the healthy thing to do."

Sam swallows - a natural reaction to fluid buildup in his mouth. To hearing that Dean wanted to leave him.

Perfectly natural.

"Yeah," Dean says softly, as if to himself. "Probably, it probably was." He cranes his head back, glowers faintly at the ceiling. Continues, "But then, when I was... done, with everything. You had me come with you to save Adam, even though it was fucking stupid. And that. That was the first time I ever actually felt like... like you _got _it. What it all means."

Sam wants to say something _(that was the only time_?) but he doesn't know what to say.

"You asked why, right?" Dean says, and Sam nods even though Dean is looking the other way. "Thing is, Sam, the day you jumped... you were my _brother_. For the first time in a long time, you were - you were _with me_. So. After all that. I'll be damned if I let you go."

Outside there is silence, but Dean's words echo in Sam's head. _I'll be damned._

"Besides," Dean says suddenly, and smiles lopsidedly. And it... _vexes_, somehow, to look at that smile, the smile that differs so much from the previous grin, the previous chuckle, the previous laugh. There is _pain_, in that smile, and hurt, and honesty that isn't forced, and a good part of what makes Dean _Dean - _whatever that is.

The feeling - or notion, such as it was - passes._  
_

"Besides," Dean repeats. "The guy that basically just saved the world shows up at your door... you expect him to have a couple of issues."

And it's just so illogical and idiotic, so human and frustrating, that Sam has to look away, can't stand to even look Dean in the eye. He knows nothing he can say can make any of it better - every word, every thing he tells Dean is a lie, a construct, and now that Dean knows it, he can't ever take Sam's word at face value. Not if he wants to stay safe.

And Dean. Dean has to stay safe.

Still, for the person he had once been, for Sammy, Sam has to try. "Dean. You don't want to do this, you can't let me stick around - you can't possibly forgive me -"

"Who says anything about forgiving you?" Dean almost huffs, and for a second it's almost like everything's normal, back to how it used to be.

Sam remembers it isn't.

"But you can't just -"

"_Sammy_," Dean snaps, sharply, and for the first time he turns his head, meets Sam's eyes.

Beat. The scowl on Dean's face turns into a wince.

"...On the bright side," he says, half dry and half amused as he looks Sam over, "looking like that, you won't be able to lie to me for, like, at least two weeks."

"_Dean -_"

"No, seriously. Talk about a face only a mother could love."

"It's your stupid fault," Sam mutters, almost petulantly. Which is a lie. An act.

They both know it.

But Dean still smiles a little. And then, illogically, even though the sheer size of his cheeks fights him for it, Sam smiles a little back.

* * *

_(I mean, you sacrifice everything for me... don't you think I'd do the same for you? )_

_

* * *

_

A/N: For the record, this last episode (6.06)? Did NOT help me with Sam. God Sam, you used to be so easy to write, what the hell happened? (Pun intended)

This last episode - eh, it was okay. Of course my heart broke for Dean like a million times - that's like standard procedure now, right? - and maybe ten times for Lisa (kind of), but Sam, his acting just bugs me. Even the way he revealed THE TRUTH OMG in the last five minutes was... over the top, like he's just too used to getting what he wants out of Dean when he makes a certain face. Which made me sorta glad when Dean punched the living daylights out of him. Well no, I felt a little bad... but only a little. I think I would have liked it better if he'd just full out stopped pretending, making a clear difference between Sammy and not Sammy, if he'd stopped showing emotion. Because all it is really is just an attempt to manipulate Dean, and that, well. I just think Dean deserves better.

***spoilers***

As for the previews... I saw only the last five seconds of them, but if it is what I think it is, then I'm a little... maybe disappointed. Not sure. Maybe it's because at 15 I wrote 100 pages of a book about a man without a soul - the way I pictured people attributing emotions to his very logical behaviors seemed fascinating to me - so I'm kinda been there, done that, but if Sam's soul was really gone, wouldn't _he _be gone? Dean traded his soul and went to hell, so how can Sam be up here with his soul missing? I dunno, it just seems kinda fishy to me.

***end spoilers***

So this story. I had a bunch of people ask me to, well, fix the boys. And believe me, I tried, I thought of a dozen things and none of them fit. What can I say, this Sam's a tough nut to crack. Still, I didn't want to end on a complete downer. So this is what came of it. It's kinda messier than the last chapter, I do apologize for that.

Thank you so very much to all those who reviewed the last chapter! It was amazing to read all those different opinions. And even though Show's let me down in the past, it's also come through in the past, so I really can't wait to see what Show gives us next week.

Tell me what you think!_  
_


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